Soldier
by The Nerdy Samurai
Summary: Ilius Bowden learned to be a military person. At age five he's taken to Battleschool, where he becomes an important ornament for the fleet. But once he meets Ender, he realizes things he never took the time to analyze.
1. Chapter 1

Ilius sipped the tea that he held in his hand. He stared at Colonel Graff with turbulent eyes, as he watched him talk to his parents. He was peeking around the corner, eavesdropping as his parents had recalled.

"He'll be alright with us, Mrs. Bowden," Graff said. Ilius squeezed the mug with both hands, until it splattered in his hands.

His mother looked his way then ran to him. She saw his hands, flooding with blood, but he wasn't crying at all. He looked at her then looked at his hands. She sighed, and bent down to clean his hands. Ilius watched her, not saying a word, not even crying.

"Are you alright, Ilius?" She asked, touching his face. He nodded slightly, then pulled his hands away from her, and retreated to his room.

He closed the door, loudly, hoping they would here the noise. He dropped to the ground, and stared at his bleeding hands. They overlaid small scars that covered the surface of his palms. With regularity he went to his bedside drawer at retrieved the first aid kid that his father placed inside it. He dressed and bandaged his own hands, realizing he was becoming low of his supplies. But from what he heard, he might not need them.

"Battleschool," he said to himself. He's heard of it before, but he never wanted to go. His fifth birthday just came around and he didn't want to go anywhere. He felt safe in the care of his parents, knowing that he wouldn't become in trouble if he murders someone accidentally. The mugs almost made him unstable, realizing he had strong hands, but not regular for a five year old. He remembered the monitor that he had on the back of his neck. It was irritating, but he also felt like he was missing something when it was taken off. But the real point was the plan the government had intended.

"This is normal, with him," Mrs. Bowden said, walking back into the living room. "I've never heard him cry before….it's…it's unreal to me."

"I know, Mrs. Bowden," Graff replied. "We've been monitoring him for a while now. We know why he doesn't."

"It scares me," she replied, looking in the direction of the incident. "One day he tried to carry his little sister down the stairs and…" she closed her eyes, the memory filling her mind. "And the glass cups…he has scars all over his hands."

"It's been going on ever since he was a bit smaller," Mr. Bowden added. "As you may know already."

Graff nodded. "We've also noticed the number of times he tried to turn his monitor off. He managed to successfully do it, once."

Mrs. Bowden looked at her husband with a worried look. "We never knew…"

"You weren't supposed to be aware of it, Mrs. Bowden. Unfortunately that incident was government information, until of course, I told you at this moment."

Ilius' father nodded at him, agreeing with the information that was now being addressed to him. "How much damage did he do?" He asked. Mrs. Bowden looked at him with a troubled look.

"James,"

"How much?" He asked again.

Graff sat back. "More damage than any other normal five year old would do," he replied. "He has the potential that we need up there."

"I never knew," James said quietly, sitting back. "I feel like…"

"You've failed him? James, you've been in the air force. You know what it takes to be as successful you need to be to be the best in warfare. Your son, Ilius has grasped your knowledge."

"But so young an age. It does not help me that much, Graff, to know my son is going to murder thousands of aliens that are no different than us."

"I wouldn't say murder. It's protection for this world. If they invade us, we would be in more trouble than we could possibly imagine. We don't know fully what they can do. As far as we know they could blow our planet to bits. We will not back down to become a play toy, James."

James looked at Graff for a long moment. He loosened his tie, and messaged his forehead with his fingertips.

Graff stood. "Sorry to bother you this morning."

"Wait," said a voice from behind. Ilius stepped from the shadows. He looked at his parents, then at Graff. "Let me go," he said, turning towards his parents again. They exchanged glances, then looked at Graff.

"Ilius," his mother began to say.

"Susan, if he wants…" James began to say.

"I need to go, mother," Ilius said. "I'm probably better off there, anyways. I don't have anything here, and I'm sure not learning anything." He looked at his hands. "Send me. It'll help both you and my sister. Please. I want to go."

Graff looked at Ilius and nodded towards him. "You won't see your parents for some time, Ilius. Your first leave is when you're twelve."

Twelve, Ilius thought. That's seven years. "I'll go. There's no changing my mind."

His mother rushed to him, and hugged him tightly. A few moments later, his father came and joined the hug. "I love you, Ilius, always remember that," his father whispered to him.

"And I want to be like you, Dad. I'm going to be like you," he replied.

James gave a small smile, then backed away with his wife. Ilius walked over to Graff, and followed him out the door. "Say bye to Lyra for me," he said, before the door slid shut.


	2. Chapter 2

Ilius looked around the shuttle. There were about nineteen other boys, all about the same size as him, except one. He promised himself not to make any eye contact to give any sparks. It would all play out too soon, and he would be in more trouble than he was already in. Alan Richell, the other boy who sat next to him told him his name was Luscious, along with a piece of advice: He picks on the smaller kids, and doesn't like anyone getting in his way. Ilius nodded at that, and continued the rest of wait, trying to avoid looks from the officers that loomed through the aisle, making sure they weren't causing any trouble.

He looked at his bandaged hands. The blood was showing through the white wrapping, which indicated that he needed to wrap them again. His medical kit was at home. There was nothing that he needed to bring, or could bring to Battleschool. All the supplies he needed were all ready up there. Except his family.

No, he said to himself. I can't miss them. They're out of my life for the moment…for a while. Remember, this isn't summer camp.

"It's almost time," Alan whispered beside him. An officer came and tightened the harnesses on their chests, tightly. "I've never been in space before."

"None of us have," Ilius replied, balling his hands into fists.

"What happened to your hands? It looks like it hurts."

"It was an accident before I left. It happens all the time, nothing to get excited about."

"Really?"

Alan stopped his talking when he felt a jolt. So, this is what it feels like launching into space, Ilius thought.

It wasn't long before they were all slightly dangling from their straps, slightly floating. "Hey nimbrain," said a boy behind him. Ilius tried to ignore him.

"Hey nimbrain, I'm talking to you. Move your nitwit head out of the way so I can get my friend." He jerked Ilius' head to the right, moving it for himself. Ilius felt his temper rise. The next time that boy did that, he'll be sorry for messing with him. His head moved back in place. The hand swapped at it again, but this time Ilius caught it, with both hands.

"Stop that," Ilius said, twisting his wrist. The boy yelled in desperate mercy.

"Stop! Stop, you're hurting me!"

It a moment's time Graff was by their aisle, placing the boy back against his seat. Ilius let go, and crossed his arms, slowly releasing his anger.

"You don't want to mess with him, understand, soldier? Answer me!"

"Yes sir," he boy replied.

"That goes for all of you!" Graff said, now looking in all directions of the shuttle. "You don't have any brains, don't mess with Ilius Bowden. You make him mad, he'll tear you apart, understand?"

A bunch of 'yes, sir's filled the shuttle.

Ilius glanced at Alan. He turned away from him now, focusing on Colonel Graff, who got everyone's attention. Even the other officers. His day has become more complicated than it needed to be. One moment the whole world wants to pick on you, another moment the whole universe is afraid of you. He tried becoming invisible, but it doesn't really work in null gravity.

A little while later, a voice over a speaker told them it was almost time for them to dock. They all exited upwards, climbing the small ladder out. Graff waited for them when they came out into the school.

"So, what was it like?" Graff asked.

"Like going into space," Ilius said, not really putting any thought into his answer.

"Right."

"The whole world hates me now, Graff," Ilius said. "I thank you for that."

"They may hate you, but you'll get respect."

"Really?"

"You have high hopes Ilius. A lot of people will have trouble denying you."

"You almost make me feel like Augustus."

"I was thinking more like Julius Caesar," Graff replied. Maybe Graff wasn't so rebellious after all.

Ilius didn't reply.

"Don't let it get to your head. Screwing up in the place where you belong is a bad and dangerous thing."

"Thanks for the advice," Ilius replied.

Graff watched him as he left. That kid was going to have problems, even when he's one of the greatest. His maturity as taken its toll.

* * *

Ilius met Alan back at the dormitory. He came to find out they were in the same group, but he had a feeling that was going to change in a short time. Other boys were coming in, quickly picking bunks. All of a sudden he was glad he wasn't claustrophobic…because of the ceilings. He chose the bunk closest to the door, not taking any risks with being closer to the back. At the end of it he opened his locker, examined the contents then closed it back. He spent some time wearing uniforms for going to a Catholic school, but jumpsuits didn't really suit him. Unlike his father, he never liked assigned clothing. But the object that really got him interested was the pistol like thing by what seemed like a space suit. He shook his head. There weren't any lethal weapons allowed here. It must have been here probably for some kind of game.

"I think I've found my place," Alan said, hanging his head from the top bunk, looking down at Ilius. "Did you see the pistol?"

"I saw it, but I don't think it's a pistol. It's probably for some kind of game. I've heard something about it, I think."

"You think? You seem like a person that knows EVERYTHING. Someone who's everyone's hero."

"Is that an early prediction?"

"I'm really just following what my brother always tell me. He was the hero. Always the hero. He just doesn't know what it's like to be a Third."

"You're a Third?"

"Unfortunately, yes. So is our 'mom'."

"Our what?"

Alan turned his glance towards a young man who looked gentle. He was talking with some of the other boys.

"You didn't hear, did you?"

"No, I was busy."

"Looking at the insides of our lockers?"

"Never mind. What's his name?"

"Dap."

"Strange name."

"So is Ilius, no offense. Dinner's in five minutes, by the way. You missed that too."


	3. Chapter 3

Ilius ate slowly, not trying to taste the food, but to see how kids up here really act like. There were boys up to about fourteen years sitting at the tables, trying to choke down the food designed for their diet. Ilius tried keeping his gaze low from the boys that were on his shuttle, keeping his profile low. He had enough trouble for a day.

"So, this is what Battleschool is like…" Alan said. He was looking around the room with wide eyes as though he was trying to get attracted. Everyone else here was already used to new "launchies" and didn't even pay attention to the new batch unless there were truly ones to be worried about. Unfortunately for Ilius he was already the source of the problem in his own group. It couldn't get any worse than it already has been.

"I wonder what we're going to do with those guns in there," Alan commented. He pointed his index finger and thumb like they were formed to be a pistol and squinted out of one eye, aiming. "Shoot them down. Shoot them all down. Down with the Buggers. They don't deserve to live."

He put his hand down when he saw something in the corner. "Hey, look."

Ilius followed his gaze. All he saw was just another person sitting in the corner. The only difference was that the person wasn't a boy like the rest of them.

"A girl? I didn't even know they were allowed," Alan said.

"There's a few here, not many," a voice said behind them. Graff was standing there, looking around the cafeteria. Ilius stood up, ready to be fired at again. Graff looked down at him.

"How are you holding up, soldier?" He asked.

Ilius looked around with his eyes, not sure what how to reply to question. "Holding up as well as I can…sir."

"Good."

Ilius waited. It seemed like Graff had something else to say. What he wanted to know was why Graff was looking out for him so much. He didn't do so much with the others, but why to him?

"I don't want you hurting any of the others up here, understand?"

"Yes, sir," Ilius replied. "I understand."

"That means you keep your anger under control or find yourself in quarantine."

Ilius blinked. He didn't realize he hurt others out of his own anger. And being in quarantine wasn't going to make the best of his time up here. "Yes, sir."

"Her name's Petra Arkanian. You'll meet her soon enough when you're put into an army. I would suggest you stay out of her way."

Graff nodded and left, not glancing back towards him. Ilius sat back down a little uneasy and slightly homesick.

"Hey Ilius, that was a cool thing you did on the ship."

Ilius looked at Alan. He stared down at his food. "I just wanted to say that, if you didn't mind. I think you actually have what it takes to beat those aliens."

"Thanks," Ilius muttered back, even though that wasn't what he wanted to say.

"You know, I didn't know she was a girl at first. She really does look like a boy."

* * *

"What's your colors?"

"RED, BROWN, RED!"

"Again…"

"RED, BROWN, RED!"

"Don't forget it. It's you path back to the barracks if you haven't figured that out, yet."

Ilius watched Dap talk like the rest of them. He was looking, but not necessarily listening, or hearing for that matter. He looked at the scars on his hands, suddenly thinking about his younger sister, Lyra. He wished he was home, but he didn't want to go through that whole fighting ideal again. He belonged here, and he was going to stay. At least, he thought he belonged here. He wasn't up to full idea of fighting yet. Fighting all those aliens with other kids his age. He wasn't up to it, not yet.

"I heard you could tear kids apart with you bare hands,"

Ilius closed his hands and looked at Dap, who was standing there, asking a question while Ilius thought about aliens. He looked at Dap, but didn't answer.

"He's crazy!" Someone shouted.

"Shut up!" Alan shouted back.

"I don't tear other people apart," Ilius replied. "I don't do that kind of stuff. I don't even like fighting."

"If you don't like fighting, you should go home," Dap said. Ilius shook his head.

"I can't go home."

"You're right you can't."

"I belong here."

"So you hurt people."

"Yes."

"You tear them apart."

"No."

"You tear them apart…mentally."

Ilius started at him. He wasn't the type of person he should be talking to, but if that was the case, no one in this bowl was safe to talk to except a few chosen, and those were even hard to find. Dap walked away.

"Alright, who's ready to play some games?" Cheers sounded through the barracks.

Games? Ilius thought. We're supposed to be training to fight off these aliens, and we're going to play games?


	4. Chapter 4

"So, this is what they were talking about." Ilius looked around the room. A bunch of older boys stood playing, watching, and challenging each other in duels. Ilius and Alan stood there watching them while trying to stay out the way. A few of them must have heard about the incident on the shuttle. They looked at Ilius and turned away, muttering things about a third Ender. What in the world is an 'Ender'?

"Hey, Ilius. Look at this." He pointed to a computer game, similar to the one at home. "You've played this, haven't you?"

Ilius shrugged. He's played most of the games here at home except the holographic one in the corner. "Sure." The older boys were playing it, making it a biohazard caution…for Alan. Ilius began to walk over.

"Ilius, what are you doing?"

"Nothing. I just want to see." It was the game where you commanded your own fleet of ships. He remembered playing it with his father back in Michigan. It wasn't so long ago before he learned how to play it. He almost forgot. "You shouldn't do that," he said. The boy looked down at him, and turned back to the game.

"Stay out of my way, launchie. I know what I'm doing."

"The other fleet will flank you on all sides, and you'll…"

The boy looked at him again, just time only looking at him. He switched back to his game again before stepping back. "Since you want to teach me, you do it."

Ilius stepped up, a little surprised, but ready to put him into his place. He put his hands around the controls and quickly moved his fingers across the controls, fixing the other player's problem quickly and accurately.

"You've played this before?" The boy asked when he finished.

"With my dad." He stepped back to let him reset the game. "If you outflank the other fleet first, you'll win."

The boy looked at him. "I tried that already. I was trying something different." He turned back to the monitor and didn't say anything else. Ilius looked at the jacket he was wearing and noticed that it had some kind of lizard on the back. It almost looked like a dragon.

"I didn't know you could do that," Alan said, meeting him.

"It's an easy game," Ilius replied. "Anyone could have figured that out."

* * *

If Ilius wasn't mistaken, this was school only without the nuns and ridiculous Catholic school uniforms. There were videos of bloody battles of both the distant past and recent. Unlike being in St. Francais Academy, this was far from the curriculum he was once set in. Marine blood was spilled and their bodies were obliterated.

They talked about tactics all the way from ancient Roman history, through the times of the early twenty first century and beyond. Math was actually a subject, along with reading certain texts. He liked it better than school on earth. Not only what they had to learn, but the things that went on in the 'secret' village of virtual messaging.

**MR. SWEAT BOMBS IS PRESENT.**

**-ANONYMOUS**

Ilius looked at the message on his desk and looked at his instructor. Right under his arms were two sweat spots that leaked through his uniform. He looked back at his desk.

**DON'T LET HIM SEE YOU SNEAKING MESSAGES LIKE THIS ONE.**

**-GOD**

Ilius ignored them. The minds of three year olds were in his class. Wonderful.


End file.
